


sickbeds

by vannral



Series: snarky banter and pop culture references [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 18:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gets hurt on a mission. Back at the Tower and on his sickbed, he's so BORED. Thankfully, Clint's there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sickbeds

Clint and Peter get paired up a lotin missions.

Steve thinks it’s a great idea, because Clint and Peter’s chemistry  _is off the charts._ They banter, their cooperation intertwines into a beautiful dynamic.

(ignoring the fact that sometimes Steve thinks he’ll facepalm himself into the next century, because sometimes it gets  _so_  embarrassing.)

     “Hey,  _Spidey,_ some assholes are biting your heel.”

     “ _Yeah, I see ‘em. Wow, did you see their masks?”_

     “Yeah, ‘s like big baby faces. I don’t even wanna know.”

     “ _They’re, like, realistically creepy, too. Ew! Who thought about that? ‘Hey, let’s get giant baby masks’?”_

    “Probably that one guy, whose mask is angry. C’mon, let’s not think about it too hard.”  

    “ _Yeah, also I’m gonna get nightmares about – whoa!”_

Clint frowns. “Peter? You okay?”

    “ _Y – yeah, just – ah! – minor difficulties – “_

    “Where are you? D’you need backup?”

    “ _No!”_ Peter panics. “ _No, no, I’m – I’m okay. I think. W – watch out, these babyfaces got some seriously huge machine guns over here.”_

He doesn’t tell Clint that one of the bullets graced him. It’s probably not – too  _bad,_ he’s got some more serious hits, but it  _hurts,_ surprisingly  _lot,_ stings,  _burns_ like  _hell._ He stops his glide against a brick wall, gasping for breath and hissing.

After a beat of hesitation, he glances down at his side and nearly faints. Yeah. It looks like a hole.  _Yep. Totally a hole._

 _No way I’m going down like this. No – no way,_ he thinks desperately, feels hot blood seeping through his suit.

    “ _Pete?”_ Clint’s voice sounds tense, worried. “ _Are you okay?”_

Not even remotely. “Uh, just – just got punched the wind out of me.”  _With bullets, but yeah._

    “ _Where are you?”_

    “Uh, on – on a really big building? I dunno, I think there are some weird angels on top. Like, like in Doctor Who. Do you know Doctor Who?” He’s rambling, he  _knows,_ but –

    “ _Yeah, the Weeping Angels. You blinking?”_

    “Like hell. All the time. Oh,  _man.”_

    “ _Pete?”_

Black stars pulse in Peter’s eyesight. Not good. Probably not  _good. At all._.

    “I’m a bit woozy. Or – maybe a lot.”

    “ _Are you hit? Hey! Focus on me, are you hit?”_

    “Yeah, maybe. Feels like I’m hit. I mean, I am.”

He hears Clint curse. It feels weirdly familiar. It makes him grin like an idiot. “You sound like you’re from - from the south, Clint.”

    “ _Oka_ _y, you’re insane. I’m comin’ to get you. Hold tight and don’t go flinging yourself off the building, got that?”_

    “Wouldn’t it be easier for – for me to get to you? You can’t fling.”

    “ _I can fling whatever I want, man. Hold on tight.”_

Peter nods, giggles.  _Honest_ to  _God, giggles_ at Clint Barton. He should be  _so_ ashamed and embarrassed, but fortunately for him, he’s way too exhausted, too high-strung on pain and adrenaline to really  _care._

Clint finds him ten minutes later. At that point, Peter’s bathing in cold sweat, he’s  _faint,_ and he nearly falls off the building, but Clint dives on the edge, grasps his wrist and grunts:

    “ _Hold on!”_

He fishes Peter up, and after gasping for breath, he checks Peter. “Jesus Christ – Pete? C’mon, buddy, open your eyes. Why didn’t you tell me you were  _shot?”_

Peter blinks blearily up at him. “Didn’t know it was that bad”, he slurs. “Sorry.”

    “Okay, shut up, we’re gonna fix you up, yeah? Hey, we need a medical evac,  _Spidey’s_ down!”

Later, Peter wakes up in the medical wing.

He  _hurts,_ his bones  _ache,_ it sucks, and there’s Clint, leaning against his knees,  _waiting._ He sits by the bed, in an uncomfortable armchair, and in these gaudy lights, he looks very tired. 

He smiles faintly, when he sees Peter’s awake. “Hey. How’re you holdin’ up?”

Peter blinks very slowly. “I’m not - bleeding anymore, so – that’s cool”, he murmurs back, closing his eyes. His tongue feels clumsy. “Are you okay, Clint on the right?” 

Clint looks slightly alarmed, then he snorts wryly. “Very funny. Too bad that didn’t do anythin’ to your sense of humor.”

     “Excuse you, Mr. Barton, I think I’m funny.”

     “Nope, kid. C’mon, seriously, though. You in any pain? We can boost your medication up, if you want.”

    “No, I’m okay.” Peter chokes out: “Clint? I’m sorry.”

Clint’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? Why?”

    “I – I screwed up. I got shot. And – and you had to get me. ‘Cause I messed up.”

    “No, no, no, that’s not what happened. It’s  _okay._ Nothing bad happened, besides you ending up here. It’s _okay.”_

    “It’s not! How many people suffered, ‘cause you had to keep an eye on me?” Peter breathes out, his useless  _paper_ lungs constricting.

    “Hey! Hey, it’s  _okay._ We minimized the damage, no deaths. Couple of them ended up in a hospital for concussion, but that was before we got there. Fury got on with the damn program, so evac worked pretty well.”

Peter gapes. “Really?”

Clint nods gently. “Yeah, really.”

Peter slumps on his pillows. “Thank God.” He wonders this a minute, in his sluggish brain. Everything goes so  _slowly_ in his head, it’s kind of annoying. “So, I’m the only one, who got hurt.  _Great.”_

    “You got hit with a machine gun, Pete. A  _big_ one. It was serious. I thought – it –  it looked like it tore your side  _apart.”_  Clint swallows thickly. “You nearly fell off that building.”  

    “Sorry.”

    “ _Don’t_ apologize. It’s okay. You didn’t die. That’s – that’s a definite plus, at least.”

Peter opens his eyes and smiles weakly. “Thanks, Clint.”

A grin spreads slowly on Clint’s face. “Yeah, ‘s okay.”

They rest in comfortable silence. “So, did the Doc say how long I’m supposed to be here?”

    “Well, at least when there’s  _not_ a gaping hole in your side”, Clint points out. “But hey, Doctor Cho is  _top_ at her job. You’ll heal in no time.”

    “Whee.”

It makes Clint grin. “Yeah. Hey, I’m gonna go grab something to eat, what d’you want?”

Peter gawks. “You’re gonna bring me something?” 

    “Sure, man. What d’you want?”

    “Uh…whatever’s the cheapest?” Peter says, hesitating. Others buying him stuff makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel so  _unworthy._

Clint’s expression softens around the rough edges. “No, Pete, what do you  _want?_ I’m thinking of McDonalds, you okay with that?”

    “Y – yeah. ‘s fine.”

    “C’mon, Stark’s paying.”

    “And – uh, he’s _okay_  with it?”

    “Yeah! He told us to go nuts, basically.”

    “Oh. Okay? Um, I’ll take something…with cheese. A lot of cheese. And… Clint? Thanks.” And he  _means_ it, oh,  _means_ it with his whole, raw, bare heart. (Later, it  _means so much.)_

Clint brings burgers in a paperbag, and they eat. Doctor Cho  _isn’t_ pleased.

Also, a day later, Peter decides that he  _hates_ this. He’s so  _bored._ There’s a TV up there, but there’s  _nothing on,_ except news and propaganda, and  _not_ Netflix, and Peter’s ready to bash his face in.

    “Cli- _iint”,_ he whines, when Clint comes in. “I’m  _bored._ This sucks. Tell me something interesting.”

Clint blinks. “Uh, Thor hates Poptarts?”

A pause. “What, really?”

    “Yeah, says they’re too sweet or somethin’, I dunno. Said he liked them at first, but then people kept givin’ them to him.”

    “Oh, that sucks. Welcome to Earth, huh?”

    “Something like that. How are you doing? Besides being bored.”

Peter wrinkles his nose. “This sucks. I don’t have anything to do…” he complains grumpily.

Clint sits next to him. “TV ain’t enough?”

    “No, ‘cause it’s like full of anti-Avengers propaganda, about how we screwed up, and major damage to some warehouse, so  _no,_ I don’t wanna watch that _”,_ Peter sulks, and runs fingers through his hair. “Is everybody else okay?”

    “Yeah, we’re okay. Everyone in politics have pretty serious opinions ‘bout us. Tony’s on a roll.”

Peter grimaces. “Yeah, I bet it didn’t look too great.” He sighs deeply. “This makes me feel so  _useless._ C’mon, let me even – do  _something._ Math? Planning? I don’t know, give me a Gameboy? Or  _something!”_

    “You’re a horrible patient, kid, you know that?”

    “So? I don’t have anything to  _do._ I can practically  _hear_ my skin heal, and that’s saying something.”

Clint rolls his eyes, and takes something from his jacket. It’s Peter’s old, battered iPod. Peter’s jaw drops. “No  _way!_ You didn’t!”

    “Totally did. Had to go through your desk, though, sorry.”

    “No, it’s okay, totally forgiven. Thank you,  _thank you”,_ Peter gushes, excited and relieved. He beams up at Clint, his dimples showing, and like sunshine, beautiful and golden. “No, Clint,  _really,_ thank you.”  

Clint doesn’t  _flush,_ exactly, but it’s a near thing. “You’re welcome”, he grunts almost awkwardly and shifts. “Hey, uh…wanna watch Breaking Bad?”

    “Sure, but – how?”

Clint winks at him and leaves. Peter gapes after him. Well, that’s shady as hell. Clint comes back, though, after fifteen minutes, with Tony’s big laptop under his arm. He sets it up on Peter’s lap.

    “Did he give that, or did you steal it?” Peter asks, not knowing whether to be amused or suspicious.

    “C’mon, man, he has like twenty of these, he won’t miss one.”

    “If you say so. But if he’s on a rampage, when we lose some important research, I’ll totally blame you.”

 _“You_  complained ‘bout being bored.”

    “I would  _nev_ _er_ steal”, Peter says innocently.

    “You’re a liar, Parker, that’s a lie and you  _know_ it.”  

Peter beams. “Maybe.”

So, that’s how Natasha finds them, later. With Tony’s computer in Peter’s lap, Clint leaning against the bed, and they’re watching Breaking Bad.

    “So, how are you boys doing?” she drawls out and leans against the doorway.

She’s a great person, Peter thinks. Great, but…a little intimidating. No,  _a whole lot intimidating._ And when she  _smiles;_ it’s like perfect row of white teeth, beautiful, like  _a shark’s._

    “Uh, fine, um, we’re watching – uh, people make meth.”

    “Breaking Bad, Nat, you might wanna watch that. It’s genius.”

Natasha makes a doubtful ‘hmmh’-sound that shouldn’t be terrifying, but to Peter it is. She peers to look at the screen, her fiery red hair cascading down.

    “Oh, that’s the father from ‘Malcolm in the Middle’.”

Pause. Both Clint and Peter turn to stare at her. “Okay, how the hell do you know that?” Clint demands.

Her lips twitch, and she shrugs innocently. “It makes me laugh. It is a good show.”

    “But it’s like…fifteen years old?” Peter says slowly, not sure if he’s backing himself into a trap. Probably is, though, because he’s not that smart in that department.

    “So are you, and you don’t hear anyone complaining about it”, Natasha remarks, and Peter flushes bright red.

    “Excuse  _you,_  I’m  _not – “_

    “C’mon, Nat, let the kid go. He’s bored out of his mind.”

Natasha winks at Peter. “I know you are. How’s your… side?”

The way she says  _side_ sounds almost dirty _._ Peter wants to suffocate himself with a pillow. Is it too much to ask that he gets to watch a great TV show with Clint? Apparently,  _yeah._ Damnit.

    “Uh, fine. Good. Sort of.”

    “There was a  _hole,_ Pete”, Clint remarks as the episode starts picking up again.

    “Yeah, but it’s  _closed_ now. All better, right?”

    “Sure, whatever you say. C’mon, shut up, people, it’s starting again.”

That’s how Clint, Peter and Natasha watch two next episodes. Until Bruce and Tony wander in; of course, that’s not their  _point,_ they’re there to take look of something at the office, but they freeze on the doorstep.

Tony is the first one to talk. “Okay, what the hell am I seeing? Is this a slumber party? Are you having a slumber party in the medical?”

    “Kind of?” Peter says. “I mean, it sucks, ‘cause I can’t leave.”

    “Also, no ice cream, either, Stark. Please, you need to step up in your game”, Natasha snarks, but there’s no bite, no  _teeth_ in her drawl.

    “There’s ice cream in the  _kitchen,_ so move there, if you want some. What the hell are you even watching?”

    “Breaking Bad. You could probably make meth in your weird lab”, Clint adds, and Peter grins at him. He _adores_ Clint’s sense of humor. 

    “Pfft, I could make  _awesome_ meth – also, not my  _point,_ Jesus. We don’t  _need_ meth. C’mon, Bruce.”

Bruce tilts his head curiously. “You didn’t find any smaller screen?” he asks, amused.

    “Nah, that TV doesn’t have a Netflix.”

Tony halts and peeks back. “What? It doesn’t?”

    “Nope.”

    “I’ll fix that. Doctor Cho probably did something – “ He frowns, shakes his head and says: “Later. C’ _mon,_ Bruce. Let’s go play with cool, shiny things.”

    “Sure. You better keep FRIDAY where I can see her, though.”

    “I SAID I WAS SORRY.”

Natasha gets up too, stretching like a cat. She’s got cat-like grace about her, lethal and sharp-edged.

    “Play nice now, boys. Don’t stay up too late, hmmh?” she winks and walks out.

Peter lets out  breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Clint glances at him, amused. “You okay?”  

    “Um, yes. No.  _Yes._ I am. I think I died. Got a heart attack.”  

    “She’s just got her own kinda sense of humor. It takes some getting used to. She likes to get under people’s skin.”

    “Yeah, I – I, uh, noticed that, thanks.” A pause. “I don’t look fifteen, do I?”

    “You’re  _seriously_ asking me that?”

    “Well, she said so! I’m not fifteen”, Peter huffs, kind of indignant.

    “Yeah, I  _know_ that.” 

     “Seriously unfair, I’ve drank hard liquor and everything.” Kind of. He didn’t like it, but Clint doesn’t need to know that.

Clint grins. “Good job, kid.”

    “We  _just_ established that I’m not  _a kid,_ c’mon, Clint, can we  _not_ talk about this?”

Clint winks; his face softening. “You up for new episode?”

    “Totally.” A pause. “Now I really would love some ice cream. D’you think Tony’s got some cookie dough chocolate stuff in there?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)  
> Please, visit my tumblr if you like: http://vannral.tumblr.com/


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